


part-time fashion designer, full-time roommate from hell

by drabbles



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/F, Love/Hate, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn-ish, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-01-22 03:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21294605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbles/pseuds/drabbles
Summary: Veronica Sawyer, full-time journalism major, part-time barista, and maybe a little bit in love with the worse roommate ever, Heather Chandler.
Relationships: Heather Chandler/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 85
Kudos: 364





	1. notes aren't cute

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: this is a multi-chapter fic
> 
> slow burn/build, college au, roommate au, modern au, chansaw fic no one asked for

Veronica Sawyer was pretty sure the apartment she just moved into was built for four people, maybe even more.

There were three large bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and a large living room. It was a furnished apartment, complete with a massive refrigerator, AC units, luxurious sofas, and a ridiculously expensive looking TV set. There were things in these apartment that she wouldn’t even dare look at because she was definitely sure they cost more than an entire year of her salary from the cafe. Even the shared bathroom, well Veronica was pretty sure it was bigger than her room back in Ohio. She made sure to leave as little of a mess wherever she went that wasn’t in her room.

Her favorite part of the apartment though was probably the balcony, mostly because there was a comfortable little hammock (a hammock, for crying out loud) there where she could sleep, write, and maybe even forget about the rest of the world. The view wasn’t all that bad either, overlooking the city that stretched as far as her eyes could see. Needless to say, this apartment didn’t belong to a broke college student living off instant noodles and sachet packed shampoos. No, it belonged to someone _making_ a living.

Veronica only knows three things about her roommate. Only three things, since she’s moved here last week.

One, is that it was a she who was probably majoring in fashion design, interior design, or that she was deeply obsessed with all the glamorous things in life. There was a copious number of shoes neatly stored by the door that, combined with the extensive line of hair products on the bathroom, cost more than her rent itself (oddly enough, the rent had been cheaper than anticipated). The apartment was either owned by the girl’s parents or by a fabulously wealthy relative. Whoever it is that owns the unit, it was still undeniable that this girl had enough money for herself to _burn_.

The second thing she knows about her roommate is that she was a freakishly tidy person. Veronica wasn’t messy per say, but she liked to consider herself as an artist and artists, although she’d hate to stereotype, were naturally messy people. They left a streak of creativity in their wake, a mess of things that should pose as the physical embodiment of all the artistic activity going on in their minds. Veronica’s room was a testament to this. She knew her roommate had to be an art student, judging by the kind of literary novels, fashion magazines, and art books their shared living room had. Although, Veronica admits, she’s never really been to the other girl’s room so maybe that’s where all the creative activity remained.

The last thing Veronica knows about her roommate is her name. Well, she knows what the girl’s name probably is. Hillary? Hannah? Heidi? She knows it starts with the letter ‘H’.

Of course, Veronica would have known what exactly her name is if she’s actually _met_ the girl. 

Still, Veronica found very little to complain about. It was one of those rare instances where she believed luck was actually on her side.

* * *

At Friday night, Veronica stayed over at Martha and Betty’s smaller apartment. They were binge watching the third season of Glee from Martha’s Netflix account, which was not Veronica’s idea at all.

“I can’t believe we’re wasting our Friday night watching this crap,” she huffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from Martha’s lap.

Martha swatted her hand, “You’re the one who wanted to come over and watch movies with us, Veronica.”

“Uh-huh, I should be working on a paper right now for English lit,” Betty spoke through a mouthful of popcorn, “But I’ve succumbed. Re-watching it makes me feel like Glee trash all over again.”

“Since when have you not been Glee trash?” Veronica snorted, which was overpowered by a shriek that came from one Rachel Berry from the television set.

“Why did you want an impromptu movie night anyway, Ronnie?”

Veronica scoffed, “Living in a large apartment by yourself can get pretty fucking lonely, okay?”

Martha scolded Veronica about using profanities before telling her, “By yourself? Didn’t you mention something about some roommates named Hillary, Hannah, and Heidi?”

“—Just _one_,” Veronica interrupted, “and I’m not sure about her name. See, I haven’t met her yet because she’s kind of never around.” Which was kind of freaky, Veronica admits, but she couldn’t really do anything about it because of her schedule. Both their schedules probably didn’t align at all.

“So wait, if she’s never around then why didn’t we go over at your place, instead?” Betty mumbled, “We should have movie night there every night. I wouldn’t mind spending the night in a huge ass apartment with actual decent appliances.”

“Hey, I want to be a good roommate. I’m not just going to invite someone over for a sleepover without asking her,” Veronica told them, “besides, I want to at least get to know her first—what she’s actually like, if she’s a good person, if we can get along, be friends, things like that.”

“Try doing something nice for her then,” Martha beamed, “Oh, I know! Give her one of your famous coffee blends. That’s a sure recipe for instant friendship.”

“Huh, yeah I think I just might.”

“Wow Veronica, it hasn’t even been a week since you’ve moved into your new apartment and you’re already thinking about wooing your roommate.”

Veronica pushed Betty Finn off the sofa. 

* * *

Veronica doesn’t remember exactly how it all started, but she’s pretty sure she was the one to initiate things first.

It was Wednesday evening, and she had just made it back to her apartment. She wasn’t surprised to find that it was empty again. Everything looked the same, except for one part of the flat: the shoe rack. It was the first real mess she’s ever seen in the apartment. There were several pairs that were skewed, and _wow my roommate bought a new pair of shoes. _There was a shopping bag from Prada that had an empty shoe box in it, along with its wrapper, all haphazardly placed next to the rack. Veronica was able to catch a glimpse of the receipt and _fuck shit this thing better be made out of solid gold. _And yet, finally, it felt like she had an actual roommate, there was living proof now!

Then, without even thinking, she decided to organize the shoe rack. She neatly folded the shopping bag, and kept it in a corner. She carefully rearranged the shoes, so many different shoes, so many 6-inch heeled ones. There were enough shoes in here to wear for every occasion, that, or fund a popular girl clique the size of an army. Veronica shuddered at the thought, countless memories of her high school days flashing before her eyes.

After much contemplation, she then made the noble decision of writing her roommate a note. She didn’t want the other girl to think Veronica was some creep who went through other people’s things. She just liked to maintain the cleanliness of the apartment, and do something nice for her roommate at the same time.

_“Hey! It’s Veronica, your new roommate. I hope you don’t mind, I tidied up the shoe rack. Hope it helps, even just a little bit!”_

Veronica taped the note next to the shoe rack before padding her way to her bedroom.

* * *

The next day, while on her way out of the apartment, Veronica noticed her roommate left her a reply.

_“Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw. I didn’t ask you to but I appreciate it anyway. Was in a hurry that morning. –Heather C.”_

She stared at the note for a long time, trying to search for the subtext in ‘fuck me gently with a chainsaw’ while asking herself who on earth writes using a red marker? At least now she knows her roommate’s name is Heather and not Hillary, Hannah, or Heidi. And that _Heather_ has meticulously detailed and pretty handwriting.

Later that evening, Veronica decided to leave her roommate some of her signature brew.

* * *

Veronica started to leave several notes for her roommate, ones that were very polite and respectful. The same thing could not be said about the other girl, however.

Veronica took Martha’s advice to heart. She started doing little nice things for her roommate, like leaving cute notes, preparing premade snacks (she’s very proud of her vegetable paninis) for her, and sometimes even picking up her dry-cleaning. Things got a little bit out of hand because Veronica also ended up doing other things like watering the other girl’s plants, cleaning up the bags of Channel and Gucci by the door, taking out the trash, restocking the refrigerator, and many more.

Her roommate left her notes like:

_ “The trash is full again. I wonder if my roommate is around to clear it out.”_

_“It seems we’re out of milk. Buy me some? Fat-free, lactose-free. P.S. It’s the one with the fucked up cartoon cow on it.”_

_“Be a dear and water the posies. I think they’ve wilted in my radiance.”_

But the worse thing she’s asked Veronica to do by far was the concoction that was likely summoned from the depths of hell itself. Her roommate calls it the prairie oyster but Veronica likes to refer to is the ‘_bull testicle_’ because of its ingredients, raw egg yolk, vinegar, ketchup, cayenne pepper, salt, and other weird shit you don’t usually drink. Well, it’s basically like the awkward cousin of the bloody mary. Apparently, her roommate claims that it’s the best hangover cure there is. She’s asked Veronica more than a couple times to store some in their refrigerator for her. Heather must have assumed, because Veronica could make a mean coffee brew, that she was an instant go to girl for complicated beverages. Damn it, thanks a lot Martha. Veronica never had the guts to tell her roommate off, mainly because they’ve still never met before. The only real interaction they’ve had are through these notes that are, quite frankly, already getting old.

In the meantime, she’ll just continue making bull testicles for her roommate that, like the drink itself, was probably from hell too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have no idea how or why the two of them became roommates in the first place, please excuse the plot holes. This was meant to be a one-shot but I guess I'm slowly turning it into a full story. Everyone is still in character, maybe less cussing though but trust. I just need to post and finish it as soon as possible because I have a lot of ideas right now for it.
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> -drabs C:


	2. Heather, Heather, and Heather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's Heather again? In which Veronica gets even more confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skipping class just to post fanfiction eyyyy stay in school, kids

A rapid succession of knocks woke Veronica from her sleep.

Someone was knocking from outside her apartment. It was incessant, uncaring, and very _very _loud.

She groggily sat up from her bed, and glanced at her phone to check the time. It was two in the afternoon, the sun seeping through her curtains made her headache grow even worse. She was only able to sleep at dawn because of her graveyard shift at the café. Two more weeks, before the shifts will be redistributed among the employees again. Two painful agonizing weeks more, before she can reset her body clock to normal once again.

She bolted upright when the knocking grew more frantic.

Who the fuck could it be? She wasn’t expecting any company… unless her roommate was. Veronica sighed pitifully to herself before scrambling towards the door. Whatever the fuck they want, it had better be good. Veronica grumbles to herself all the way to the door, dutifully ignoring the sticky notes her roommate has left her on various places of the apartment.

She angrily swings the door open, and she is greeted by a girl in a green blouse who looks equally, if not more, pissed off than her.

“What the _hell_ took you so long?”

“Huh?”

The stranger sauntered inside, carrying a pile of what looked like jackets, skirts, and blazers with really thick shoulder pads. The sound of her heels pounding across the floor caused Veronica physical pain, it was as though the knocking on the door hasn’t stopped yet. _What? _Veronica rubbed at her eyes aggressively before pinching herself awake. Surely she wasn’t dreaming all of this shit up.

“Um, can I—can I help you… miss?”

“Yeah, no I got it. Call me Heather,” the girl dropped the garments on top of kitchen counter before disappearing deeper into the apartment.

_Ah_, so this was her infamous roommate. Veronica eyed her closely, a mix of confusion and clarity gracing her features. The first thing that came to her mind was the other girl’s appearance. Dark, perfectly quaffed hair, loosely tied with a green scrunchie. She wore light make-up, with shades of eye-shadow and lipstick that complimented her outfit fairly nicely. Long, toned legs supported by—_is she seriously wearing 4 inch heels?_ How Veronica can tell they are 4 inch heels, well she blames it entirely on her roommate’s wide selection of shoes. This girl probably stood in front a mirror for a long time to put something as nice as this together.

_Shit_, though Veronica hates to admit, her roommate was actually really pretty.

Heather was rummaging through the kitchen cabinet for something when Veronica decided to break the silence.

“Hi,” she curses at how raspy her voice sounds. “We haven’t officially met yet, I’m Veronica.”

The shorter girl slowly cranes her head towards Veronica’s direction. She has one perfectly drawn eyebrow arched up, which made Veronica feel almost intimidated.

Veronica wiped her palms on her baby blue colored pajamas before sticking out her hand, “Sawyer. Veronica Sawyer, sorry.”

She felt relieved when Heather shook it.

“Right, okay. Heather Duke.” She crinkled her nose before slowly saying, “What, do I know you from somewhere, Veronica?”

“I’m—actually I’m your roommate?” _The one you’ve been ordering around like some nameless pawn the past few weeks?_

Recognition fell on the other girl’s eyes. “Oh, I’m not your roommate. You probably mean Heather.”

“Who is…?” Veronica subtly motioned for the other girl.

“Who is not me,” she crossed her arms and leaned on the counter, “God, Heather wasn’t kidding when she said she’s never met her roommate before. I don’t even _know_ how she knew you were home. I mean, the other Heather.”

“You’re both named Heather?”

“You live to learn with it.” Heather (?) shrugged before collecting the garments on the counter. She went into Heather’s (the Heather who was her real roommate, apparently) room, which gave Veronica ample time to process the information being given to her.

“Yeah, she’s never really around the apartment,” she said after a while, making sure to keep her voice loud enough so that Heather could hear her. “But we don’t meet probably because of my fucked up schedule. I work the graveyard shift at Director’s Café,” Veronica rambled.

“Oh my god,” the other girl yelled back, walking directly in front of Veronica, “The one near the campus library?” Veronica nods, “I so love that place! The pumpkin spice lattes there are fucking amazing, they’re the only things I actually enjoy drinking.”

Veronica smiles at her, the context of what the other girl said entirely lost in her.

“Why have I never seen you before though? I always order something there before heading to the library.”

“Um, graveyard shift.” Veronica gestures to herself.

“Right, right,” Heather seethes. “No wonder you and Heather don’t run into each other. Law school already takes up like, ninety-nine percent of her time and, on top of that, she’s also juggling a part-time job at Elle Magazine.”

“Really?” Veronica’s mind can’t help but linger at the idea of her roommate being a law student.

“Honestly, I have no idea how she still manages to find the time to get drunk out of her ass at frat parties.”

Veronica thinks back at all the times her roommate has left her with chores to do, and she thinks, _yes_ she can definitely imagine how.

“Anyway, I gotta get out of here. It was nice meeting you, Heather’s roommate.”

Veronica gives her a friendly smile, internally praising the heavens that she can go back to the comfort of her own bed. The lecture she needs to attend doesn’t start in about three hours, and she lives near the university anyway.

Before Heather leaves however, she strides close to Veronica and hands her a damp tissue. “You have dry spit at the edge of your mouth, there right there.”

Veronica, utterly embarrassed, accepts the paper and tries to wipe the drool off.

“Hey, is there any chance you could whip me up some of that pumpkin spice latte? I could provide the ingredients or whatever.” She was looking up at Veronica almost, dare she even assume, shyly and hopefully.

Veronica doesn’t know what made her say, “Ah, what the hell. Sure, why not?”

Heather flashes her a giddy smile before stalking out of the apartment. Veronica swears she heard the other girl mumble something like ‘what a cutie’ under her breath, but she’s decided to blame it on her still sleep addled mind.

She needs to pinch herself a second time to reassure herself that this wasn’t some sleep induced dream, after all.

She’s starting to think that people called Heather might have something more in common than just the name.

* * *

The second time Veronica meets a Heather, she was in her baby blue pajamas yet again, only this time she was in the middle of watching old reruns of Batman: The Animated Series on her roommate’s massive TV.

She heard the tiniest meows coming from outside her apartment followed by a plethora of gentle cooing.

Before Veronica could peek through the door’s peep hole, someone softly knocks at her door. She pries it open instead, and she’s greeted by yellow, yellow, and more yellow.

“Hi, I’m sorry, I have keys to the apartment but I heard the TV was on so I assumed it was rude to just barge in.” A ginger kitten popped out from under her yellow blazer and started meowing loudly. The girl giggled nervously. “This is Tabby,” she held out her hand, “And I’m Heather.”

_Ah, so _this_ must be my roommate_, Veronica immediately assumes. “Veronica.” She steps out of the way to let Heather in, but the girl stays firmly in place. Veronica coughs, “You can come in, you know.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” She tiptoes inside, immediately looking for a place to put her cat in, leaving Veronica with even more questions than answers. This girl seems politer, not that she’s insinuating that her roommate isn’t but _okay I kind of am._

Veronica clears her throat, “I couldn’t find the BQ corn nuts you asked me to get the other day. They said they were all out.”

“BQ corn nuts?” Heather mumbles. She’s now holding an empty Manolo Blahnik shoe box, stuffed with some towels and make-shift blankets inside which, Veronica assumes, is for the cat.

“Yeah, the one you left on this note,” she holds out a note that was taped on the fridge. Either her roommate was forgetful, or just playing dumb.

Heather places her cat inside the box before reading the note, blonde locks framing her face in the process. Veronica tries not to think about how attractive this girl is. She’s starting to think it probably comes with the name too. Perks, or whatever.

“Oh, this is from _Heather_. I recognize her penmanship.”

“You’re not…?”

“No, I’m not,” she giggles, “I can see how this might be a little confusing for you, though.”

Veronica relaxes a bit, “Sorry. Let me guess, you’re a friend of my-roommate-Heather?”

“Bingo!” she chortles, “You can call me Mac, though! I probably shouldn’t have introduced myself as Heather to begin with.”

“What’s up with the cat?”

“You mean Tabby?” The kitten starts meowing. “I just found him this morning near your building. I needed a box to put him in so I can carry him back to my place,” she adds sheepishly.

“You’re adopting a stray?” Veronica found this Heather, Mac, endearing already.

“Yup! I’m sure Heather won’t mind.”

Veronica gave her a confused look.

“The Heather that is my roommate,” Mac clarifies.

It takes Veronica a second to put the pieces together, that she probably means Heather Duke, the pumpkin spice latte girl whom she just met three days ago. She’s starting to wonder if being raided by girls named Heather is going to be a common thing to happen to at her new apartment.

Her visitor notices the cartoon playing in the living room and, to Veronica’s pleasant surprise, begins to gush about how much she loves and misses watching the series. She sits on the couch, kitten now on her lap, and starts talking to Veronica about the show. Veronica decides to humor the other girl, and shares some of her vaster knowledge of the Arkham universe, to which Mac only replies with a variation of ‘ooh’s and ‘ah’s.

Veronica thinks that this Heather is probably going to be a potential friend. She could even see Martha and Betty warming up to her because hello, she brought in a fucking stray cat _and_ she likes cartoons with good writing. That’s the whole package right there. Maybe people named Heather weren’t so bad after all, Veronica decides.

After a while, Tabby the ginger kitten has warmed up to Veronica way more than she had initially hoped for.

In the end, Mac jokingly told her that Tabby probably thinks of them as his parents, to which Veronica only replied with a repressed squeak.

* * *

The third and final time she meets a Heather, she was sprawled in the living room sofa coughing and blowing snot out of her runny nose.

It’s around four in the morning, and she’s called in sick from work because of a nasty fever. She couldn’t sleep due to the clogged nose so she’s resorted instead to lounging around the living room, waiting for her instant noodles to cook, with Queer Eye playing in the background. She wraps the blankets closer to herself before texting in her group chat with Martha and Betty.

**Veronica** _3:52_: help me im sick i literally cannot stand up

**Martha** _3:53_: Oh no!! What happened, ronnie??

**Betty** _3:53_: probably flue season I fucking hate

**Veronica** _3:53_: bad fever. why are you guys up?

**Betty** _3:54_: martha’s working on a paper for her theo class while I’m studying for my midterm exam later boiii

**Martha** _3:55_: Your roommate has gotta be around, right? Maybe she can take care of you while you’re sick… After all the things you’ve done for her ):

**Betty** _3:55_: somehow I sincerely doubt that martha but bless

**Veronica** _3:56_: no she’s not here. still haven’t met her yet except for her two other friends who weirdly share the same name

**Betty** _3:56_: lol are you sure she’s not a ghost

**Martha** _3:56_: I’m still not over the fact that she has two other friends named heather too, honestly how does that even happen?

**Veronica** _3:57_: im pretty sure ghosts cant leave a myriad of sticky notes asking me to do chores bc what kind of evil spirit does that

**Betty** _3:57_: only you would casually throw that word in a sentence “myriad”

Before Veronica could send another reply, she hears keys jingling from outside her apartment. She sees the doorknob twist, and the door creaks open. A blonde clad in a tight red dress grumbles to herself while she takes off her shoes by the shoe rack and—_holy shit_.

This _must_ be her. This must be Heather, her-roommate-Heather.

It’s sticky-notes-girl, freakishly-tidy, but-sort-of-lazy-to-do-her-own-chores Heather.

_Holy shit._

Heather looks gorgeous. Her blonde hair, done in messy curls that accentuated her face and contrasted nicely with her red dress. Her long, porcelain legs that seemed to go on for days as she strutted about in the apartment.

Veronica looks stupid. She was wearing her baby blue pajamas yet again, and her hair was undoubtedly sticking up at every direction. She was staring at the other girl with her mouth hung open, instant cup noodles in one hand, phone on the other. Veronica looks absolutely fucking stupid.

“Is there something on my face?” The girl stops to ask her, and Veronica wants to tell her _apart from your perfect make-up, no. Listen, I really hate you for all the shit you’ve asked me to do but you have nice penmanship and a nice face. Your friends are a little crazy, but I think they’re alright—are all Heathers really that pretty? I think I can forgive you for treating me like crap all these weeks just for being that pretty. _

Veronica doesn’t say anything. The blonde crinkles her nose at her before pacing into her own room. Veronica stares for a few moments before the vibration coming from her phone snaps her back into the present. She spends a fair amount of time contemplating whether she should just go back into her room and try to sleep the fever off, while thinking about what she’s gotten herself into. Before she can move however, Heather steps out of her room again except this time she’s wearing a silky red night gown, and her make-up is removed, and her hair looks much softer, and Veronica should really stop gaping. The girl saunters towards the living room, and gracefully sits next to Veronica. She ruffles her hair a bit, before visibly melting into the softness of the sofa.

“What?” She asks Veronica, “I really like Queer Eye, okay?” She has grey eyes.

Veronica hopes she’s mumbled something along the lines of ‘I do too.’

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, roomie.” Is what the blonde says, and Veronica thinks she might have.

Later, she texts Martha and Betty again:

**Veronica ** _4:23: good/bad news, my roommate heather isn’t a ghost she’s real_

‘And drop dead gorgeous’, she doesn’t type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the feedback on the previous chapter! Hearing your thoughts always make my day.
> 
> This fic is based off of that one korrasami fic I read a long time ago links over here>> https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112523/chapters/6743351 (please read it its amazing, more amazing than this fic tbvh)
> 
> It's not entirely based on that though since the foundation of Veronica and Heather's (I guess all of the Heathers in general) relationship will be mostly hate (in the beginning anyway, but only Veronica hates them skldflj or that she doesn't know what to make of them bc they are crazy).
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> -drabs C:


	3. Veronica isn't a Heather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica meets the Heathers, only this time she meets them all at the same time. It's weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the feedback!!!
> 
> Okay so you guys are gonna really laugh at me but I've already written the parts where they not so accidentally fall in love, but not the bits when they slowly establish the friendship yet. That's why I took so long to update!! I've been thinking of ways on how I can make them turn into friends, establish a relationship outside of just the apartment but at the same time I wanted to make it sound funny and really in-character. This is a relatively short chapter, but an important one nonetheless. 
> 
> I guess I should probably mention that there are bits where Mac kinda likes Veronica???? But Chansaw is definitely endgame. I love Mac, don't worry, she won't be suffering from a broken heart in this. I just need to flesh out the sequence of events even more. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

**Chapter 3**  
Veronica isn’t a Heather

* * *

Veronica skimmed past her notes from Contemporary World. She just came out of class, breezing through the ocean of college students brushing past each other to get to their next classes. Veronica, on the other hand, didn’t have any more lectures for the day. Her shift at the café starts at 5 PM today, but she needed to get there early because Betty asked her to cover for her for at least an hour. She needed Veronica there by 4 PM.

She glanced at her watch, 3:10 PM. She still had enough time until four. Veronica always chose to walk instead of taking the bus, mainly because it helped her save her money. The café was only three blocks away from her campus anyway, near the university library.

She pushed the double doors open, taking in the view of the university courtyard. Veronica stood for a moment to take in the view. There were countless students milling about; some were laying on the soft green grass, others were lounging underneath the shade of tall trees, and a select few were gathering around the benches and tables—and that’s when Veronica made her first mistake.

She recognized those three sitting around a table at the center of the courtyard. It was hard to miss, considering they dressed like a stoplight.

Pumpkin-spice-latte girl, adopted-a-stray-and-loves-cartoons girl, and her roommate.

Heather, Heather, and Heather.

One of them was her ridiculously attractive roommate.

_My roommate._

The roommate who she lives with, and asks her to do stupid stuff whenever she’s not around.

Veronica inwardly cringes at herself the minute she remembered the events that had happened last night (this morning?) when actually she met her roommate.

They ended up watching Queer Eye together for a while. Her roommate kept on telling Veronica about her thoughts on the outfits, houses, make-overs, and about how she’s met the cast at one point. Perks of working for a fashion magazine, she told her. Veronica on the other hand tried her best to sound functional despite her fever-induced state. Heather eventually took notice of Veronica’s fever and, to her pleasant surprise, made her chicken soup. _Chicken soup_. Canned, of course. _But still freaking chicken soup._ Heather had left it on the kitchen counter, along with a tall glass of water and a paracetamol, before vanishing back into her own room. Veronica remembers standing in the darkness of their kitchen, staring blankly at the hot bowl of soup. Drinking it made her feel a little better. But she never got to thank Heather for it.

She flinched when she saw one of the Heathers make direct eye contact with her from the table. Second mistake. It was the green Heather, looking at her as though she was dirt at the bottom of her heel. Veronica decided now would be a good time to continue her walk to work.

“Isn’t that your roommate, Heather?”

“Where?”

“Oh my god, hi Veronica!”

Veronica was halfway mid-step when three voices stopped her.

In her head, she was already giving herself an imaginary roundhouse kick.

In her reality however, she was turning around, stiffly waving, while muttering a forced and undoubtedly awkward, “Hi.”

Veronica was about to walk away when the Heather wearing a yellow sundress, Mac, frantically gestured for her to approach them. “Veronica! Over here!”

Veronica inwardly groaned as she slowly walked over.

“Hi, roomie. I hope you’re feeling better now,” Heather told her. She was wearing a loose fitting red cardigan draped over a tight V-neck top, a simple look that made her _really pretty to look at_. Veronica looked down, and of course she was wearing heels with that outfit. Veronica doesn’t know why she expected anything else.

Someone cleared their throat, snapping Veronica’s attention back to present company.

Mac was looking at her with a quizzical expression, “Why? What happened, was she sick?”

“Terribly sick. I found her miserably laying on our sofa this morning, hacking up a series of coughs,” her roommate told them, making Veronica feel utterly embarrassed. “I knew she was sick right away. Though, she kept staring at me like I was the sick one.”

“Well I mean, technically, you are.”

“Shut up, Heather.”

“Sorry, Heather.”

Mac giggled, before turning her attention to Veronica. “But you are feeling better, aren’t you?”

Veronica flinched again as all three sets of eyes fell on her. “O-oh, yeah I am. Thanks for the medicine and the soup you left me, by the way.” She shared a glance with her roommate.

“It was nothing. You seemed like you could use the help, so I provided. It was the least I could do.” Heather gave her a sweet smile.

“Sit with us, Veronica.” Mac scooched over.

Veronica contemplated sitting with them or not. She really needed to get to work. Betty was counting on her to be there. But at the same time, she was kind of curious to know what her roommate was really like, sticky notes and household chores set aside. Veronica mentally smacked herself in the head before sitting between pumpkin spice latte girl and Mac. She’d explain everything to Betty once she got to the café.

“So,” the girl next to her started, “We should really hang out again next time and watch other cartoons. Plus, I think Tabby really misses you.”

Veronica chuckled, “Looking forward to it.”

Her roommate groaned. “Grow up, Heather, cartoons are so 2007. Besides, they don’t even make them the same anymore.”

“Okay, Heather. I’m going to pretend that you did not just say that because, wow, I am pretty offended right now.” Mac put a hand up, “I have a list of all the great animated series made within the past few years, and it can obliterate you, like literally obliterate you.”

“Oh, I’m practically quaking in my heels. Try me, bitch.”

The two continued to bicker together, while the girl next to her nudged Veronica with an elbow. “Hey. It’s me again, Heather Duke,” she held out her hand. “—_Or,_ as you may now know to be, the most normal Heather.”

Veronica laughed, humoring the other girl, despite the bored tone. “Veronica Sawyer, again,” she playfully shook Duke’s hand, “Or, as you may now know to be, the most awkward Veronica you’ll probably ever meet.”

“Being thrust into a social situation like this one would make anyone feel awkward,” she said good-naturedly, as she gestured at the pair.

Veronica’s posture visibly relaxed, feeling less and less intimidated by the other girl.

Duke flashed her a smile. “You should come to the mall with us sometime. We do great make-overs, like you wouldn’t believe.”

Heather stopped threatening Mac to tell Veronica, “She’s right, you know. You have great bone structure, Veronica.”

“And a symmetrical face!” Mac piped in.

“I mean, yeah but you could stand to lose a few pounds,” Duke mumbled.

“Oh my god, Heather, rude much? Don’t listen to her.” Her roommate rolled her eyes, earning a shrug from the other girl. “Beautiful. We can make you beautiful.”

“Not that you aren’t already, Veronica!”

Duke snorted.

Veronica didn’t give the Heathers a definite answer. After listening to them bicker for a while, she eventually told them she had to leave for work. To her surprise, the Heathers gladly insisted on giving her a ride all the way to café. She hitched a ride with Heather Duke, who of course drove a big green Jeep. Mac sat in the backseat with Veronica, talking her ear off about the most random things from her favorite cartoon to her favorite shade of lipstick. Heather, who sat in the front with Duke, would pitch in from time to time.

“You’re working in a café huh, Veronica?” Mac told her after a while.

Veronica looked out the window, before texting Betty that she was already on her way. “Oh, yeah. It was originally just supposed to be a summer job, but I wasn’t able to find another one that was this close to campus so, there you go.”

Mac fidgeted with her seatbelt buckle. “Well, I’m starting to think that the cute barista stereotype is a stereotype for a reason.”

Duke cackled as they turned a corner, now nearing the café.

“Thankgod, we’re finally here.” She heard her roommate grumble from the front seat as they parked directly in front of the entrance.

“I can assure you, that that stereotype is not true at all. I would know. None of my co-workers are cute.” Veronica muttered as she got off the car. She promptly thanked all three of them before gently closing the car door.

She waved at Duke’s Jeep, wondering why they haven’t left yet. She shrugged before pushing the glass doors of the café open.

She was immediately met by a curious Betty, who forcefully pushed her into the employee’s room.

"Slow down, Bets!"

“Normally, I’d hate you, Veronica Sawyer, but holy shit! Whose car was that? A freaking Jeep!”

“You know they saw you through the glass, right?” Veronica mumbled, searching for her apron and name tag.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock,” Betty peeked through the small window of the door to check the parking lot. “The Jeep’s still there, Veronica. Why is it still there?”

“Ah, they’re probably just arguing over something again.” Veronica waved her hands dismissively, before tying her apron on.

“The question being—_they_?”

Veronica leaned on one of the counters. “Remember those girls I told you and Martha about, the ones all named Heather?”

Betty slowly nodded.

Veronica gave her a pointed look.

“No way. No way! That’s them?” Betty glanced at the small window again. “Who are, by the way, still outside. The car is just parked there under hazard.”

Veronica squinted at the window, “Weird." Betty was right, Duke’s Jeep was still perfectly parked outside. "Forget it, let’s go. Dinner rush is about to start, and you need to head home.”

“We work in a café, Veronica. There’s no such thing as dinner rush in a café.”

“Right, just a bunch of caffeine addicted kids who want a place where they can spend their all-nighters in.” Veronica chuckled, as she tied her hair in what she hoped was a proper bun. She had a perfect view of Duke’s Jeep now that they were out of the employee’s room. She decided to wave at the car.

It immediately whirred to life, momentarily bouncing up and down, before maneuvering itself out into the road in a fast and impressive fashion.

“Oh look, I think you scared them away,” Betty quipped behind her.

“Shut up, dude.”

"I'm texting Martha."

Veronica shook her head before grabbing an order from the ticket pile. She braced herself for another long night at the café.

* * *

“Nice one, Heather.” Duke snickered the minute Veronica closed the car door.

“I didn’t think someone could be that dense,” Mac mumbled to herself, as she stared at Veronica who was waving at them from outside the vehicle.

“_I’m starting to think barista stereotypes are real_—oh please, Heather,” Chandler mocked, “It’s honestly your own damn fault. That was terrible. It was too subtle.”

“Subtle? Yeah, maybe for you.”

The three collectively watched Veronica as she was pulled farther inside the café by one of the employees.

“Fuck, I think she’s in trouble,” Chandler muttered.

“Oh no! That’s our fault, Heather!” Mac was about to step out of the vehicle when Chandler stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re going, Heather?”

“Um, isn’t it obvious? I’m going to explain to that manager lady that it wasn’t Veronica’s fault she was late.”

There was an audible smack that came from Chandler’s direction. The girl had just slapped her own forehead in frustration.

“What Heather means, _Heather, _as she has just so eloquently exhibited, is that that would be a bad idea. A very bad idea.” Duke told the blonde in the backseat. She pulled the gear in reverse, preparing to drive out of the parking lot when Mac interrupted her.

“We can’t leave, yet! You guys, we need to make sure Veronica’s going to be okay…”

“Yeah, as okay as she can possibly be in that outfit. I mean, _Jesus Christ_, did you see what that girl was wearing?” Chandler groaned. “Asking her to go to the mall with us was a stroke of genius, Heather.”

Duke puffed out her chest, “She deserves a make-over, one that only we can obviously pull off.”

“Sure she’s pretty, but not that pretty,” Chandler absentmindedly mumbled. She craned her neck, trying and failing to search for Veronica in the café.

“Quiet!” Mac shushed them. “There she is!”

Veronica was walking towards the counter, tying soft brunette hair in a loose bun.

“Okay, fuck, she’s pretty.” Chandler angrily spat.

“Wow, Heather. I think she’s the first girl you’ve ever sincerely complimented. The world must be ending, oh my god.” Duke cackled, briefly recalling the bit about the blonde telling Veronica about her ‘good bone structure’.

“Shut up, Heather.”

“She’s waving at us! Veronica’s waving at us!” Mac’s knees bounded up and down, causing the Jeep to bounce along with it.

“Shit,” Chandler hissed, “She sees us!”

“Yeah, so? Heather, don’t—no! What are you doing!?” Duke screamed, trying her best to maneuver the vehicle. “Take your heel off the gas, Heather, I swear to—**_oh_** **_fuck_**!”

“Drive, bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last bit that was told in the perspective of the Heathers is totally up to you guys if you want to read it LOL because I doubt I will be adding another chapter in the future that would be told in their perspective. This fic is just meant for Veronica's perspective, but I had way too much fun writing the Heathers interacting with each other without Veronica in the scene. The story being told in Veronica's perspective alone is kind of part of its charm/writing style I guess? But anyway eventually, we will get to see their perspective again maybe at the climax of the fic? It really depends. I've already written the climax bits, I'm not even kidding. I just need to get these out as soon as I can, get the gritty parts out of the way first. 
> 
> Anyway! Here's my tumblr acc, I do drawing requests! I drew one chansaw because someone requested it! Please don't hesitate to send drawing requests of chansaw or any other Heathers related stuff and ships because??????? JHSDKHGSJHLKF I will not hesitate to make it <3 
> 
> https: / / drabsyo.tumblr.com / tagged / drabstuff
> 
> thoughts?  
-drabsyo C:


	4. Dear diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica finally decides to make that pumpkin spiced latté. Oh, and she attends a football game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE
> 
> This was a difficult chapter to post because 1.) the lockdown in my country cut off our internet connection and I’m only using mobile data. 2.) the original file was on my computer so I had to write this chapter all over again and I also decided to edit the outline and interactions because a lot of people liked seeing all three Heathers interact with one another (I don’t blame you guys these three nerds are a riot). 
> 
> PLEASE STAY SAFE EVERYONE! If a chapter update helps keep everyone safe at home, then I will fucking persist.

Veronica doesn’t consider herself a recluse. 

Well, on most occasions she doesn’t. The last time she locked herself in her room, she remembers, was to hide from a boy (of all the reasons) who went to the same school as her—Westerberg High. He’d visit Veronica’s home frequently, as a flimsy attempt to win her affections. She’d even gone as far faking a suicide note just to get him off her heels. Teenage Veronica was never any good at confrontation, in whatever form it took. She found it difficult to say no to anybody, mainly for fear of public judgement.

It was, in every sense of the word,  _ juvenile_—and Veronica likes to think that her high-school insecurities and sporadic outbursts of teenage delinquency were so far behind her now that she was in college.

But today... today doesn’t feel like that at all.

She heard a grumble from outside her room, a mishmash of three distinct feminine voices that Veronica has now recently associated with, for the lack of the better term,  _ unadulterated fear _ .

Okay, the Heathers weren’t that bad.

“I thought you said your roommate would be home, Heather?”

“Yeah, I was really looking forward to getting a pumpkin spiced latte. Brought the ingredients and all.”

More footsteps. Like they were searching the perimeter.

“She’s probably just in her room, racking up on some shut-eye. Every girl needs their beauty sleep.” That was her roommate’s voice. “Pass me those corn-nuts, Heather. And start the movie, whatever it is we’re watching.”

Veronica inwardly groaned. Now, she felt like a complete jerk. They probably just wanted to hang-out with her. But she couldn’t really blame herself because the last time Veronica hung out with the Heathers, she ended up at a frat party, blind drunk, and hungover the next day. It made her miss her shift at the café. Betty had to cover for her for a few hours. 

That was two days ago. 

Veronica vaguely remembers being dragged off into the sticky dance floor, which was some poor soul’s living room, as she tried and failed to match the lively rhythm of some nameless brunette’s dance moves. 

Nameless brunette may or may not have been grinding her hips against Veronica’s lower abdomen to the beat of the tempo... details too fuzzy to remember. 

It was mortifying for Veronica, especially because that was probably her first real college house party and she would have liked to at least be sober for the experience. The Heathers partied hard, and Veronica couldn’t really keep up with them no matter how hard she tried. She doesn’t even know how they managed to persuade her in the first place. 

“What’s with all this crap around the apartment, Heather? Are these—_oh my god_, you guys leave sticky notes for each other?”

“Oh, hey you’re right! Veronica has such nice penmanship too!”

“Jesus, Heather. Even in these sticky notes, you still sound like a fucking asshole.”

“Shut up, Heather!” 

Maybe on a good day, Veronica would face the Heathers. But for now? For now, she needed to recharge and recover. 

She silently fell back into her bed and closed her eyes. 

She heard the distinct intro of— _ is that Gossip Girl? It’s definitely Gossip Girl _ —start to play from the living room, along with more muffled rambling from the trio outside.

Veronica stuffed her head under a pillow and briefly wondered how much it would cost her to refurbish her room with soundproof walls. 

* * *

The next morning, Veronica wakes up to an empty apartment. It’s left relatively clean save for the few items resting on the kitchen counter, ingredients for what Veronica can tell are meant for pumpkin spiced lattes. 

She also notices new sticky notes pasted on the fridge: one in color yellow, one in green, and one in red.

_ “Hi Veronica! Tabby misses you! Also, you should come watch Gossip Girl with us (: -Mac!” _

_ “So i hope it’s alright i left some stuff for that pumpkin spiced latté. Missed u at movie night yesterday. Ttyl -h. duke.” _

_ “Ignore these losers. -The Real Heather” _

Veronica doesn’t know what came over her after reading those little notes, but she found herself trying (and failing) to suppress a small smile. 

Maybe she’ll hang out with the Heathers next time.

* * *

Veronica was on her way back to her apartment. The sky looked dull, a sheet of grey clouds towering over the university buildings. Several students were still milling about the quad, walking in a deliberate pace as they all scrambled to look for respective shelter. Veronica had an umbrella sandwiched between her right arm, anticipating the heavy rain shower that was sure to come. She barely made it out to the sidewalk when she heard the low rumble of a vehicle from behind grow increasingly louder. 

“Hey!”

A loud honk broke Veronica from her stupor. She looks toward the direction of the noise, and spots a familiar looking Jeep colored ebony green. It was hard to miss, considering it ate up half the space of the road. The driver, Heather Duke, had the windows down.

“Heather?”

“Need a ride?”

Veronica momentarily hesitates before sliding up the passenger seat. “Sure.”

“Where to, Veronica?” The girl asks Veronica, eyes firmly planted on the road. Small raindrops started to pour out of the sky, drizzling Duke’s car with tiny droplets of water. Veronica was glad that the other girl dropped by at just the right time. 

“Um, back to my apartment,” Veronica mumbles. “No Heather and Heather?” She fastens her seatbelt and looks around the vehicle. It’s strange, but now that there are only two of them in the car, she can smell the distinct aroma of pine trees and what Veronica can tell are the smell of old books from the university library.

“Nah. They’re probably home, they’re probably not,” the girl tells her candidly. “Don’t know, really.”

“What about you, where are you headed?” Veronica scans the other girl. She’s always felt a little intimidated by Duke, maybe it was in the way that she did her make-up—always so sharp and clean cut, precise, not a hair out of place, no room for mistakes. Or maybe it was just in the way her heels would always click loudly against any hard surface, like she was always marching towards an objective. But then again, her roommate does the same exact thing. Except Heather Duke doesn’t cook Veronica chicken soup at four in the morning with Queer Eye playing in the background. 

“On my way home too, pretty much. Got swamped with work from the Yearbook Committee today,” the girl tried to suppress a delicate yawn. “Just wanted to head home and get some rest, you know?”

“You work the Yearbook?” Veronica notices several strands of dark hair that were uncharacteristically hanging off the side of the other girl’s face. 

“Well, I try to anyway,” she snorts. “Tore through dozens of freshmen applications today. We’re all just looking for a decent graphic designer to replace the senior that’s about to graduate this year—and so far? No fucking luck.”

Duke starts talking to Veronica about her struggles with the Yearbook Committee. It offers her a decent enough scholarship, so long as she’s able to maintain her position. Veronica still finds it difficult to wrap her head around a sophomore being given the title as head of the Yearbook Committee but she is soon starting to suspect that there is more to Heather Duke than what meets the eye. 

The girl drops Veronica off at her complex with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Veronica can tell that it’s the other girl’s exhaustion settling in. 

“Thanks, Heather. Um, drive safe.”

“Don’t mention it, Heather’s roommate.”

“And get some sleep!” Veronica yells after her, as the car backs away from the curb.

“Right back at you, Veronica!” Follows Duke’s reply as she drives farther away from Veronica’s building. 

Veronica lingers for a moment before she enters her building. She vaguely remembers Duke telling her something about how she always hangs out in the library. Huh. Now, things are starting to make more sense. 

It takes Veronica another minute to realize that the rain wasn’t as strong as she anticipated it to be. It was merely a light drizzle. She shrugs and makes her way back up to her apartment. 

* * *

“Uh, Veronica? I don’t see a ticket for that pumpkin spiced latté in the rack.”

“What? Huh—oh, yeah I know that, Bets. It’s for... a friend.”

“For a friend?”

“Yup. For a friend.”

“Right. You’re going out of your way, to make pumpkin spiced lattés, even if it’s not in season, for a friend.”

“Uh-huh. Pass me that take-out box?”

“Um, sure thing, Sawyer.”

“Thanks.”

Betty eyes her best friend suspiciously before writing another ticket from the customer queue. 

* * *

_ “AND QUARTERBACK RAM SWEENY TAKES OVER THE FIELD ONCE AGAIN AS HE—“ _

Veronica scribbled furiously at her notebook, bits of popcorn from the upper benches of the stadium falling over her shoulders. The football field was packed with spectators, all rising to their feet as one of the star players on the field does—whatever it is they do in a football game. Veronica rolled her eyes. She was only here because of Martha, who has an unfortunate puppy crush on one of the football players. She told Veronica that it was love at first sight, and that she’s been gathering the courage to talk to the athlete for some time now. 

Martha was going to make her move after the game. Veronica and Betty hesitantly agreed to go along with the whole thing or, in other words, they couldn’t really say no to Martha.

“God, this blows,” Betty grumbled beside her. “How can anyone even focus on the game when there’s so much yelling involved?”

Veronica chuckles, eyes never leaving the pages of her notebook. “Pay attention to the ball? I don’t know. Ask Martha.”

The girl in question had her eyes firmly set on the quarterback who was trying to bulldoze over a wall of flesh and muscle. 

“I doubt it’s the  _ foot _ ball she’s paying attention to,” Betty mutters. 

Veronica merely grunts in response, trying to finish an essay from her Philosophy class about The Allegory of The Cave, purely out of impulse and distraction. The thing wasn’t due for another two days but she figured it was better than doing nothing at a football game. 

She feels Betty’s gentle tap on her shoulder. “Uh, Veronica?”

Veronica hums, pen still scribbling away at reckless abandon. 

Betty nudges her harder. “Veronica!”

“Ow! What!?” 

“There’s this girl who keeps staring at you,” Betty grits out. “And it’s seriously starting to freak me out!”

Veronica, confused, looks around the crowd. She swipes a tuft of brown hair out of her face and scans the upper decks of the stadium. No one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to them, or her for that matter, everyone was too engrossed with the game. 

“Oh, for crying out loud. Not up there—” Betty pinches Veronica’s cheeks between her fingers, “ _ there _ . Down by the cheerleaders stand.”

Veronica looks down, just in time to catch the distinct silhouette of one Heather McNamara shyly looking away from her the minute they had made eye contact. She was wearing a cheerleader’s uniform, only that it was different compared to the rest of the team’s. Her uniform made her stand out of the group—either that or Veronica was just incredibly biased about her opinions. 

“She’s been staring at you since we got here, but you were too busy making love to your notebook to notice,” Betty tells her, a mixture of disbelief and amusement leaking out of her voice. “Know her from somewhere? Maybe from that frat party you recently went to?”

Veronica shook her head. ”That’s just my roommate’s friend. She hangs around the apartment sometimes.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Veronica mumbles, attention drawn back to her notebook. “She’s nice, you’ll like her. She saved a stray kitten on the first day we met.” 

Betty laughs in disbelief. “She found a stray kitten? In Manhattan?” The stadium is encompassed in another mighty roar from the crowd, and the university band starts to play an up-beat tune to match the energy from the audience. A popcorn kernel flies over Betty’s face. “Jesus.” 

“I know, but I swear I’m not making it up. It was kinda cute actually.”

A smirk starts to slowly creep its way up Betty’s lips and she starts eyeing her friend more closely. “Ah, I see how it is. Veronica, why do you think she was looking at you?” 

Veronica stops writing on her notebook. “Probably because we know each other?” 

“Uh-huh. You know what I think?” Betty bumps her friend with a shoulder, “I think miss cheerleader over there was trying to... not so subtly check you out.” 

Veronica snorts. “Okay, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Did you see the way she was looking at you? It was the stuff of romance novels!”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “And this is exactly why romance novels are unhealthy for you, Betty.”

“Leave my love of the genre out of this!”

“Guys! Guys, the game is about to be over! Oh, I’m so nervous! I’m finally about to ask Ram out on a date!” Martha nervously fiddles with her glasses.

“If I can’t be a wingman for you Veronica, then I might as well be Martha’s,” Betty shrugs. “Alright, Martha, go ahead. I’ll even walk you to the players stands.”

“Thanks, Betty.” Martha nervously wrings her hands in front of her before marching down the steps. “I can do this. I can do this.”

“You can do this,” Betty tells Martha. She hits Veronica’s knees on purpose as she exits their isle before whispering, “five bucks says that cheerleader’s totally gonna talk to you after we leave. You wait and see.”

“Guess I’ll be five bucks richer then.”

Betty gives Veronica one last shove before she descends the steps with Martha in tow. 

* * *

And Betty ends up being right.

The game ends, their university football team wins, the crowd slowly parts, Martha and Betty are somewhere down the steps trying to mingle with the athletes. Heather McNamara, still sweaty and breathless from their performance, walks over to the bleachers and sits next to Veronica.

“Hey,” the girl starts, smoothing out the creases of her mini-skirt. “I didn’t know you went to stuff like these.”

“I usually don’t but my friend, Martha, she’s a huge fan,” is what Veronica says instead because explaining the real reason why she was here would take too much time anyway. “Congratulations on the win, by the way.”

”What? Oh, we didn’t even do half the effort the football team did,” Mac shyly told her. 

“You never mentioned you were a cheerleader,” Veronica finds herself saying. But it’s fitting, for someone as energetic and, not to mention, _cheerful _as Heather McNamara.   


”Well, I’m the captain actually,” there’s a hint of smugness in her tone and Veronica finds herself grinning at the other girl. “It’s not a big deal or anything.”

Veronica spots one of the members of the cheerleading squad wave from below them. “I’ll say. Cheerleader captain, Heather McNamara, leads the football team to another seamless victory yet again,” she starts mimicking the noise of a roaring crowd. 

Mac playfully slaps her shoulder. Another cheerleader waves at Mac, calling her back to the stands.

“You should probably head back,” Veronica says. “Your team seems like they’re looking for you.”

Mac brushes it off. She fidgets with her skirt again. Clears her throat. “Listen, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“Well, you see,” Mac starts. “The team and I are heading over to Kurt’s house to celebrate, he’s the quarterback or whatever.  But um, you wanna come with? There’s gonna be pizza! Maybe some alcohol too... but we can avoid that.”

There’s something palpable in the air, something Veronica can’t quite point out. There’s hesitation in Mac’s voice and then there isn’t.

But that’s when the yelling starts.

It comes from below the stands, and Veronica can easily identify that it’s coming from one of the football jocks—the deep baritone being the dead giveaway. But what made Veronica rush down the steps and towards the noise was the distinct voice of her best friend, Betty.

“You have no right to talk to my friend like that! Being a varsity jock doesn’t give you an open invitation to be a fucking asshole.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it,  skank?”

Veronica was met with the sight of one crying Martha and a pissed off Betty. The latter was trying to intimidate one of the sweaty football players who was wearing a grimy jersey with the name ‘SWEENY’ printed at the back.

“Apologize to her, right now!” Betty jabbed a finger at the boy’s chest. He scoffed before roughly swatting Betty’s hand away.

One of the boy’s friends pushed Betty backwards. “Hands off, creep. We’re not apologizing to you or to your friend, Martha fucking Dumptruck.”

”Ha! Martha Dumptruck! Nice, bro.”

”Thanks, bro.”

Veronica doesn’t exactly know how the next few minutes of her life unfolded but, among the yelling and the whoops coming from the spectators, she can offer a pretty rough summary of how things went down:

First second, she was watching the heated exchange at a reasonable distance with both shock and anger.

At the next second, she was charging towards the two football players, ready to give them a piece of her mind.

The boys start pushing Betty in between them like a limp beach ball and they continue calling Martha degrading names.

Then, Veronica was giving the boy with the ‘SWEENY’ jersey a black eye.

More yells from the crowd followed after.

More football players approached.

More cheerleaders pulled out their phones to film the entire thing.

Sweeny’s nursing his black eye and throwing Veronica a slew of curses.

And then, the boy’s friend charges and clocks Veronica on the head.

Veronica can feel the softness of the grass nuzzling against the back of her neck as she tries to process the sequence of the events. She’s lying flat on the football field  because _holy shit, football players can hit pretty fucking hard._ And also because she probably hit her head on something hard during her fall.  


Her vision’s hazy, she’s practically left seeing stars, but she can still hear the commotion with glaring clarity.

“Oh my god, Veronica!” It’s the sound of panic in Betty’s voice—Betty who was probably already running towards her.

“That’s what you get for hitting my buddy, you bitch!” It’s the sound of fury in the voice of the boy who gave her a black eye.

“Holy shit bro, I think you went too far.”

”I did it to defend your honor, bro.”

”Yeah? You willing to defend that honor in front of the cheer-captain too? Because McNamara looks fucking _pissed_, bro. Look.”

“Kurt, you fucking jackass! What the hell has gotten into you!?” And that one sounded a lot like Heather McNamara’s voice. Except angry. Really angry. Not that Veronica knew what an angry Heather McNamara sounded like but, now that she does, she kind of wishes that she never has in the first place.

Betty and Martha start helping Veronica up and the shift in her axis causes her to stumble forward. She feels a lean but sturdy body catch her, holding her still and trying to lift her face up by the chin.

“Shh,” it was Mac again, but all the anger in her voice was gone. She was trying to get Veronica to look at her. ”Veronica? Hey. Look at me. Let me see.”

“Ouch. That’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” Veronica heard someone from the crowd mumble.

Veronica tries to speak but only a tiny squeak comes out of her, vision still blurry and she’s pretty sure there’s only one Heather McNamara. Why was she seeing five?

“Shit. She can barely stand up, Kurt!” Mac steadies Veronica with both her arms. Veronica’s head lulls forward on the cheerleader’s sturdy shoulder. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, Veronica. McKenzie, get the medic!”

“On it, cap!”

“We need to keep her awake, I think—I don’t know, just, just don’t let her fall asleep,” Mac tells Betty and Martha who can only nod mutely at her. “Has anybody seen my phone!? Goddammit, where did I put my phone!?”

“Here it is!”

Veronica falls asleep.

* * *

_Dear Diary, _

_Punching people, and getting punched in return, is nothing like the movies.  
_

_But I like to think I did a good job, anyway. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, Veronica will be fine. She just needs a little bit of character build-up. Luckily, three mean girls have got her back. Heather Chandler is going to have a fucking field day once she finds out what happened to her roommate. 
> 
> Again, I apologize for not being so active these past few months, things are crazy on my side of the planet and I hope things are better wherever you guys are. I’m flattered that I still get so much love for this fic, you guys are the best. Stay safe everyone! 
> 
> -drabs


	5. Mean girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicken soup and the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thanks for still sticking around this long sdjfjkh I didn’t expect a lot of people to read the previous chapter because of the long update gap!
> 
> The lockdown got extended in my country, so I decided to just write some more to keep me entertained—also because I miss writing Chansaw jskdhf well anyway, I hope you guys are all staying safe in your corner of the planet!

Veronica thinks waking up has never felt this exhausting. 

She was laying on a familiar kind of softness, her head elevated slightly by a few pillows. She could feel the light pressure of a cotton of some sort somewhere on her forehead, probably near her left eyebrow? That was strange. And her head—_oh my god, why does it hurt so much?_ There was a throbbing sensation coming from the side of her forehead, and the skin there felt like it was being stretched from underneath the cotton. She couldn’t even move her eyebrows without feeling like she was tearing apart her own flesh. 

Veronica took a deep breath, _ah_, it smelt a lot like her bedroom in the apartment. But there was something else there, the subtle trace of a rosy perfume aroma blended with a different scent Veronica couldn’t quite point out. 

She dares to open one eye. 

A pair of pale blue eyes blink at her.

Veronica may be seven different shades of woozy right now, but she’s certain about who the woman waiting patiently next to her bedside table was and she’s probably gone and flew up into the hallelujahs because there is no way in hell or high water that Heather _Chandler_ is quietly waiting for her to wake up at—she glances at the clock—9:32 on a Saturday morning. 

But she is, and this is definitely not heaven. 

“Oh, thank god,” the other girl mumbles. “You’re awake.” 

“What... happened?” Veronica slowly props herself up by her elbows, hands reaching up to touch the cotton gauze stuck to her face. She regrets the decision immediately. “Ow! Shit!”

“Easy,” Heather coos from her spot. “What can you remember from last night?”

Veronica stares at the other girl blankly, as she tries to rack her mind for an answer. “I was at a football game,” she starts slowly, “with my friends, and I saw Mac. She came over after the game ended, asked if I wanted to hang out with her at this guy’s party—”

“She _what?_” 

“—of some guy named Kurt,” and just like that, the rest of the events that transpired last night comes crashing back at terminal velocity. Veronica groans. “Oh, fuck me. Did I really pass out in the middle of a football field in front of, probably the entire student body?”

“Yes, and no,” Heather crosses her legs. “You passed out after the nurse told you that you were going to need stitches. You were still conscious, though barely, when they hauled your ass over into the clinic.”

“I—wait, what?” Veronica looks at the other girl in disbelief, barely catching herself from reaching up to touch the gauze again. “I have stitches!?” 

“Yes, although if I were you, that‘d be the least of my worries right now,” Heather slowly stands up from her chair, and it’s like watching a flamingo gracefully rising from its perch. “There’s a video or five of the entire thing online, but I wouldn’t bother looking them up. None of them really got your good side, know what I mean?” 

“Wait, I don’t remember seeing you at the game last night.” Veronica squints at the other girl, but the constant throb caused by the stitches on her forehead prevents her from forming any kind of normal human facial expression.

“Oh, please. I have better things to do than watch a bunch of idiots ram each other over for a ball for three hours,” Heather rolls her eyes. 

Veronica can’t help but chuckle. “Tell me about it.”

Heather puffs out her chest, arms crossed in front of her. “Yeah? So why were you there in the first place?”

“Oh,” Veronica cranes her neck to the side, as she tries to avoid the other girl’s penetrating stare. “My friend, Martha, she’s a fan. Well, not much a fan of the game, but of that guy named Sweeny? And yeah, I’m guessing you probably already know the rest.”

Heather hums. “Interesting.”

Veronica’s eyes dart to her roommate’s. “What is?”

“Oh, nothing,” Heather shrugs. “To be honest, Veronica, I didn’t quite believe Heather when she told me you, of all people, got into a roughhousing match with Kurt Kelly and, god forbid, Ram Sweeny.” 

Veronica laughs weakly.

“So maybe you’re not a pillowcase,” Heather tells her. “Well, maybe not completely.” 

“Ha-ha,” the brunette rolls her eyes. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. You were there last night?”

Heather inspects her already immaculately polished nails. Well, they more like talons, Veronica thinks. “I can hardly see how that matters,” the blonde grumbles after a while.

Veronica shrugs. “Matters to me.”

Heather exasperatedly drops her hands, locking them on her hips instead. “Fine,” she spits out.

Veronica gestures for the other girl to continue before crossing her arms. 

“Heather called me, and I was near the area, so I decided to stop by. There. Adequate enough explanation for you?” The blonde offers her a closed mouth smile, and it’s probably the first time Veronica’s seen anything other than a scowl on her face. It doesn’t disturb Veronica as much as it should have. 

“Now, come on, you pillowcase,” she later says, rolling her eyes at Veronica. 

“Uh, where?”

“Duh? Breakfast?” Heather turns to the door. “God, Veronica.” 

Veronica gingerly steps out of the covers and stares down at her clothes, only to find out that she was no longer wearing the attire she wore last night. Her eyes immediately snap up to the blonde who has her back turned towards her. Veronica starts to panic in silence. She looks back at her pajamas—its her favorite baby blue soft as a baby’s bottom one. 

That’s the pair she had on.

Veronica opens her mouth to speak, only to stop herself halfway, for fear of knowing the answer of how it got out of her closet and on her. She shakes her head. 

No way. No, no, _no way._

She looks at the foot of her bed and spots a small pile of neatly folded clothes... that looked a lot like the ones she wore at the football game yesterday.

“Pick up the pace, Veronica,” her roommate calls her, now already halfway out of the room. “I made chicken soup. Real chicken soup this time, and it’s better hot.”

The last thing Veronica sees is the exaggerated—well she thinks it’s exaggerated but then again, this is Heather Chandler she was talking about—sway of red satin lined hips disappearing into the hallway, before the realization gradually sinks in. 

Chicken soup, baby blue pajamas, and a Heather Chandler on a sick day. 

She should really stop making a habit out of this.

When she finally does taste the chicken soup, Veronica tries to keep a low moan of delight from erupting because _hot damn, not even my momma can cook food this good,_ and Heather Chandler is the last person on earth that needs know about that. 

But, judging by the way the blonde’s lips quirk upwards when she closely watches Veronica from across the table, she probably already does. 

* * *

“Oh my god,” Duke cackles by the counter. “Veronica Sawyer, in the flesh, with a scar that haunts children in their sleep. And probably football players now too.”

Veronica offers the other girl a playful glare. It was Sunday afternoon in the cafe, and she was right in the middle of the lunch rush, dealing with a long line of customers asking for sandwiches and all sort of frappes from the menu. Her shift had finally improved after what felt like a year of agony. 

Betty worked the morning shift now, the girl had already left earlier to attend a group study session. Betty had fussed over Veronica the minute she entered the cafe, and has even offered to take her shift for her. Veronica declined, insisting that she could manage just fine. 

The brunette was just glad that she no longer had to work the crazy night shifts that fucked up her sleeping schedule and ruined her social life, but if that meant bumping into a familiar face every now and then in the customer queue while sporting a badly healing stitch on her eyebrow, then she would happily go back to the midnight shift.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Veronica tells Duke in a flat tone as she pulls another order from the ticket rack. “Loitering by the counter is strictly prohibited. So is harassing the employees. At least not this early in the day.”

“Relax,” Duke laughs. “I actually think it looks cool. Rugged.”

Veronica grunts in response, hands busy stirring a sugary concoction. Seriously, it was 75% sugar, what monster orders a drink with 75% sugar?

“And I thought me and my friends were whack jobs,” Duke mutters. “And yet, here you are, beating up football jocks for fun at Friday nights.”

“Not really my idea of fun,” Veronica grumbles, delicately putting a cap over one of the plastic cups. 

“Right, just decided, what the hell, I should go beat the shit out of this guy twice my size.”

“He was being a jerk to my friend, okay?” Veronica tells her. “If you were there, you’d know why I did it.”

“No, trust me, I know why,” Duke waved her off. “Point is, Sawyer, just be more careful next time?”

Veronica looks at the other girl. “Thanks?”

“I’m serious,” Duke points a finger at her. “Dead serious.”

“Sure.”

“And for what it’s worth, that bag of dicks deserved it.” Dukes leans over to give her a conspiratorial smile, “I wouldn’t worry about any of his friends coming after you, though. It’s all taken care of, promise.” 

Veronica pauses. “What do you mean?’

“It means what it means,” Duke shrugs. “You just focus on getting better.”

“Okay,” Veronica mutters. “Helpful.”

“Anyway, not really why I came here,” Duke starts, before she glares at the customer from behind her who was trying to hog the counter by staring at the display glass, “um, yeah, it’s a pastry display. There’s a bagel, a cheesecake, mousse, chicken breast, and a fucking panini. Now, do you mind?” Duke tells the customer over her shoulder, one that frantically scrambled away after making eye contact with her.

“Right,” Veronica slowly says as her eyes chase after the poor frightened customer. “Of course not.”

Duke spends a good portion of the afteroon shift just trying to convince Veronica to go to the mall with her and the two other Heathers.

After receiving a silent death glare from her manager, Veronica reluctantly agrees just to get the other girl to leave and to prevent her from scaring away any more potential customers.

* * *

On Monday, Heather drives Veronica to school. She doesn’t part with Veronica until they make it to the brunette’s first period. 

“Hand me your phone,” Heather tells her the minute they make it to the door.

“Why?”

“Just hand it over,” Heather growls. A few students passing by the hallway looks at them funny. 

Veronica wordlessly pulls out her phone.

Heather grabs it. Her fingers make no haste tapping away on the screen before she hands it back. “There. Text me later?”

“Oh.” Veronica dumbly mutters. “Um, sure. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Definitely.” 

“For a ride, Veronica,” Heather shakes her head, leaning her weight against the doorframe. She raises an eyebrow sardonically at the bumbling brunette. “On my Porche? Because we can’t have you walking around everywhere, not while you’re still nursing a killer headache. You know, because of that gnash on your head, the one that you got from that one time?”

Veronica’s mouth slowly forms an ‘O’ shape. “Right,” she mumbles. “Yeah. Duh. I knew that.” 

“Right,” Heather drawls, casually checking her nail polish. “Anyway, later.”

“Yup. Later.”

Heather starts walking away.

“Oh, um Heather!” Veronica calls after her.

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” she says earnestly. “For everything. Really. I mean it.”

Heather laughs, and Veronica thinks it’s a kind of sound that should be heard more often. 

“What are roommates for?” The other girl says over her shoulder before strutting deeper into the messy hallway of students, which unsurprisingly parted for her like the red sea. 

“Right,” Veronica mumbles to herself before finally entering her classroom. “Roommates.”

* * *

One of her classmates from first period tells Veronica about the student, Kurt Kelly, who punched her in the face, was suspended from the team. 

Later, she finds out that it wasn’t just him who got suspended, but the entire football team. They were prohibited from participating in any upcoming competitions until further notice. 

* * *

The bell rings and Veronica does her best not to draw any more unwanted attention to herself. 

Half of the class, people she can’t even remember the names of, kept on bothering her about the shit that happened on Friday night. As if the stitches on her left eyebrow wasn’t a reminder enough; the damn thing would probably leave a scar that would last until the day she’d face the void. She slumped her shoulders, keeping her head down all the way to the lockers hall. 

Until, suddenly, a familiar wall of muscle bumps into her shoulder. 

Veronica looks up, and it’s that cocky football player from Friday night, the one Martha had been infatuated with until very recently. 

The boy was staring blankly at Veronica, he had similar gauze at the bottom of his eye, one that was covering a deep purple bruise. That looked painful. She didn’t know she hit him that hard. The longer she stared at it, the more she felt guilty. 

They were both staring at each other dumbly in the middle of the hallway, both sporting similar injuries, and Veronica thinks it must look comical in every sense of the word from an outsider’s perspective.

The athlete, Sweeny was his name, cautiously clears his throat. “Uh, so you’re that girl from the game last night, Veronica, right?”

Veronica blinks. “Yeah,” she says slowly, unsure of where the conversation was headed. From up close, Sweeny didn’t look as threatening or intimidating as he did when he had all those football garb on. 

He rubs a hand at the back of his neck and nervously looks down at his well worn rubber shoes. “Call me Ram,” he grumbles. 

Veronica can feel the stitches on her forehead tingle as she does her best to keep a straight face. She doesn’t open her mouth to speak, because quite frankly, a part of her still felt repulsed by the boy’s behavior towards Martha and Betty that night. 

“Listen,” he starts, jaw clenched as he tries to avoid Veronica’s pointed look at him. “I was wondering if you could tell your uh, friend, Heather Chandler, to y’know, ease up on the team,” he grits out, and the longer he speaks, the more Veronica is convinced that he must feel like he’s dragging his own nails across a blackboard’s surface. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Veronica tells him honestly, but a little bit of distaste manages to slip out from her tone. 

“Look,” Sweeny sighs, hands coming up to scratch a bushy eyebrow. “Coach already gave us enough hell for it, and we can’t miss the next game because it’d disqualify us from competing for the finals. It’s not fair to punish the entire team.”

Veronica stares at him. She really has no idea what the guy wanted from her, let alone what her roommate had to do with any of this. She tries to think of a coherent way to voice out her thoughts when the familiar _click, click, clicking_ of heels pulls her attention away from the football player in front of her. 

Sweeny looks up in panic, and Veronica wonders what made his eyes bulge that wide, although she can probably make an educated guess. 

“Ah, there you are, Veronica.” Heather’s familiar voice intercedes, causing both parties to snap their heads towards the approaching blonde. “And Ram Sweeny, apparently,” she says unpleasantly, scaling the athlete from head to toe.

Sweeny slowly takes a step back, and a small part of Veronica can’t help but find the entire situation a little amusing because the athlete was practically twice the blonde’s size. 

“Where’s tweedledum? Groveling somewhere in the football field, I hope,” she snappily tells him, sensually leaning her hip against the lockers. “Or not groveling _enough?_” She adds, tone dipping lower. 

Sweeny fumbles with the strings of his hoodie before he mumbles, “I‘m leaving now. So, yeah. Bye.”

Before Veronica can even blink, the man disappears. She looks at her roommate who was trying to dispel a scowl from her face. 

“What did he want from you?” Heather asks her casually, as though she was merely asking about the weather forecast. 

Veronica gives her roommate a pointed look. “Heather, did something happen?” 

“Nothing happened,” Heather coyly tells her, pushing her weight off of the lockers. “Not yet, anyway.”

That catches Veronica’s attention. She’s starting to think that maybe Sweeny really was on to something a while ago. 

“Forget it, just tell me later, ” Heather dismisses, before roughly grabbing the brunette by the shoulder. “Now, hurry up. You’re going to be late for your next class.”

“What?”

“Don’t you have Contemporary World next?” Heather tells her, hands sliding to wrap itself around Veronica’s arm as she drags her forward into the direction of her next classroom.

“Yeah, I do,” Veronica carefully says. “You’re not thinking about walking me there too, are you?”

“No,” Heather scoffs, her hand on the brunette’s arm gradually slides itself lower. “I‘m not walking you anywhere. My next class is, unfortunately, near yours so I just happen to be going in the same fucking direction, and we both just gotta deal with it.”

Veronica allows herself to be dragged by the blonde anyway because it’s not the worse thing to happen to her, all things considered.

* * *

Veronica wasn’t the type to involve herself with fads and trends from any social media platform but when there’s a video of her trending on facebook, instagram, and even fucking tiktok, then it wouldn’t hurt to see what the fuss was all about. 

The videos were blurry, unsteady, and their voices were overpowered by the noise of the spectators cheering and cackling in the stadium. She could see the vague silhouette of her own body being dragged by one of the on-hand medics, and it felt absofuckinglutely surreal because she doesn’t even remember being escorted anywhere after that football player’s fist made contact with her forehead. 

But then she grips her phone tighter when sees a flurry of red at the edge of the screen, one that was speeding towards the group of huddled athletes. She slides the volume to max capacity when she hears the distinct voice of her roommate. 

It was hard to make out what the other girl was saying over the sound of loud cheers and immature hooting from the crowd but Veronica tried to make sense of it:

_ “—listen here, you highschool has been... if you even think about... will roast your state champion trophies over an open flame... do you hear me, Kurt Kelly... where’s Coach Kar, where is he—”_

_ “—Heather, wait, no... look, I didn’t know who she was—”_

_ “—can it, Kelly... move it... out of the fucking way, Murphy—”_

_ “—calm down, damn it, just wait—”_

_ “—man, who the fuck is this chick!?—”_

Veronica pauses the video. 

She scrolls through the already increasing number of comments. 

Top comment: 

_ “Heart if you have a crush on @redqueenbee.” _

Veronica slowly exits the app. 

Well, she thinks, that explains a lot. 

She hesitantly reopens the app again and, to her surprise, she finds out that she has gained over fifty new followers on instagram. 

And Veronica, against her better judgement, hearts the top comment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY WE’RE GETTING TO THE GOOD STUFF HUH
> 
> Okay so one thing you need to know about me is that I’m a sucker for happy endings, which means everyone gets a happy ending because in this fic, everyone deserves one yey
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks for this fun little roommates au. Hope you guys are having a great day and again, please stay safe everybody. Sorry, I probably already sound annoying at this point but eH
> 
> -drabs


End file.
